"OK, I'll admit, this is more effort than you two usually put in," Lydia says, once she's opened her front door and gotten her first look at Stiles and Theo. "But I would like to state for the record that I still hate it."
"What could you possibly hate about our costumes this time?" Stiles asks, indignant, and flipping his long blonde hair out of his face. He's put in way more effort this year. Sourcing all the elements was a nightmare, but they managed it, and they look hot as fuck, in Stiles' opinion. It's impossible to wear this much Lycra and not look hot.
"Because you look ridiculous, Stiles," Lydia answers, annoyed. "Just once, I would like to be able to take a photo of everyone at this party and have us all look good. This pack is, literally, supernaturally attractive, but I don't have a single photo of us all that showcases that, because you two always insist on wearing the most absurd costumes you can find."
"Aww, Lyds, you think I'm hot?" Stiles grins, deliberately ignoring everything else she said.
"Not dressed like that, you're not," she returns, flat and annoyed.
"Aw, babe, don't listen to her," Theo says, wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist. "I think you look hot. The pink really suits you."
"You don't get a vote. You're an enabler, and besides, he could wear a paper bag and you would think he looks hot in it," Lydia says, and Theo tilts his head to the side, considering.
"We should test that theory. Do they make human-sized paper bags?"
"Ugh," Lydia says. "Absolutely ridiculous, the pair of you. Though at least Theo looks good. How you managed to make that absurd outfit look attractive, I'll never know, but whatever."
"He really pulls it off, doesn't he?" Stiles grins, leaning in to press a quick kiss against Theo's cheek. The angle is awkward, what with the visors both of them are wearing, but he manages it. There's a lip-shaped stain of shimmery gloss left behind on Theo's cheek when Stiles pulls away, but it adds to the overall costume, he decides.
"Aw, thanks, babe," Theo says, sending a smile at Stiles that's a perfect replica of Ryan Gosling's empty-headed smile.
"You're welcome, babe," Stiles grins back, and then he turns his attention back to Lydia, wriggling in place uncomfortably and tugging at his bodysuit. The multi-fluro-coloured lycra bathing suit is digging into him in some very unfortunate places, even with the hot pink bikeshorts he's wearing underneath. "I think I'm with you about this not being my best costume. How do women wear shit like this? The wedgie is killing me."
"It serves you right," Lydia says, haughty, and Theo laughs at her utter lack of sympathy. Rude.
"Well, you'd better come inside and curse everyone else with your horrible outfits," Lydia continues with a sigh, holding the door open.
"Hey, it could have been worse," Stiles tells her, as he and Theo step inside. He holds up his yellow rollerblades. "Be thankful that I decided to just carry these, instead of wearing them. I nearly did, but then I pictured me several drinks into the future and decided against it."
"If you had tried to set foot onto my freshly polished hardwood floors in rollerblades, then I would have murdered you on my doorstep and turned you into one of my Halloween yard decorations," Lydia says, and turns, sweeping up the hallway, trusting them to follow.
By the door, Stiles turns to Theo.
"Shall we go join this party, Ken?" he asks, and Theo grins and reaches out to wrap an arm around Stiles' waist.
"Lets go party, Barbie," he says, then leans in to kiss Stiles, who is too busy groaning at the terrible line to manage to kiss him back.
...
Since it looks like the Trials And Tribulations Of Lydia Having To Deal With Stiles And Theo's Terrible Couples Costumes seems to have become a yearly tradition, I've gone ahead and put all three installments into a fic, with each prompt as an individual chapter. I imagine I'll be adding a new chapter to it each October, for as long as Steo Events keeps hosting SteoSpooktober.
I thought this event was tommorow but uhhh apparently not 😭 sorry if this feels kinda rushed, here’s a steo hogwarts au •-• @steoevents
Stiles has a crush. A really bad, bang-my-head-into-a-wall level crush. It’s not the intensity of his feelings that matters, he can deal with getting flustered every time he walks into the common room... more or less. The real problem is the subject of his cursed attraction (and no, he hasn’t literally been cursed to like him, though that would be a really good excuse). Theo Raeken, Slytherin’s top Quidditch player, out of all people, is Stiles’s unfortunate infatuation. At least what he hopes is an infatuation and not full-on love. It makes sense: Theo is all you could want in a guy - perfect hair, a perfect smile, and rock hard abs. Not to mention his disgustingly charming personality. Stiles hates him more than anything, but it’s impossible not to join the “marry me Theo Raeken” club that basically every fourth, fifth and sixth year is a part of. At one point Stiles genuinely considered making that an actual organisation. It never happened.
The point is, Stiles doesn’t want to blush every time they make eye contact across the dinner table. He doesn’t want to pretend watching Theo throw his shirt off in the morning doesn’t make him gape. He wishes he could ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that manifests every time Theo flirts with Tracy, but he can’t stop wishing he could kiss that stupid jerk’s smirk right off his face.
Stiles was hoping that his feelings would wear off over the summer, and they sort of did. He spent a lot of time ranting about Theo to Lydia, his best friend who graduated Hogwarts a year earlier. She’s kind of a genius. After getting all his thoughts about Theo’s biceps, Theo’s suggestive comments, Theo’s jawline, and more of Theo’s biceps off his chest, he really expected everything to fade. And yet here he is, coming back to school on the first day of sixth year, crush in full swing after he glimpsed Theo at the train platform. He was in his muggle clothes - a leather jacket, for christ’s sake - and he fucking winked at Stiles after catching him staring. The asshole definitely does it on purpose.
Stiles feels himself blushing furiously as his thoughts return to the present. Danny, who’s sitting alongside Erica, Allison and Jackson in their train cabin, regards him with raised brows: “You okay?”
Stiles shakes his head slightly, both as an answer and as a way of ridding his brain of all the unholy images within. He desperately wishes he could text Lydia right now, but of course Hogwarts doesn’t allow his cellphone to be brought along. Fucking fantastic.
“He’s right. You’re weirdly quiet today. What’s up?” Allison asks, seriously concerned like the amazing friend she is. Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry. I just can’t stop thinking about wanting Theo Raeken’s tongue down my throat, don’t mind me, would be the honest answer, but Stiles replies with: “I dunno, I’m just worried about my dad. You know how his health can get.”
He’s so going to hell.
By the time they reach their destination, Stiles has more or less forgotten about his dilemma. They ride the boats across the lake and then enter the school for the sorting ceremony. Stiles pulls at his robes, itchy green tie already starting to bother him. Seriously, why is Hogwarts so dramatic?
During breakfast the next morning, Stiles waits patiently for his owl to arrive. Through the open windows of the dining hall, he watches it swoop down gracefully. It has white feathers, almost blue, and has a bright red envelope in its clutches. “Thanks Roscoe,” he feeds it a bit of his toast before carefully removing the letter. It’s from Lydia, of course. She promised she’d write. Almost immediately after touching it, the envelope explodes in a flurry of crimson paper. Jackson smirks from across the table. “Stilinski got a howler. Great job.”
“W-“ a wave of horror crashes through him as Lydia’s voice projects through the entire room.
“Theo Raeken, if you’re listening, this is for you. Stiles has been pining after you for a year and I’m sick of hearing about it. Please hook up already so I can stop listening to rants about the veins on your arms. Thank you!” Stiles has never felt more humiliated in his life. “Oh, and don’t pretend you don’t like him back!” She adds, almost like an afterthought. The howler promptly rips itself into shreds.
Everyone in the hall is snickering, and Stiles can’t bring himself to look up. He’s hiding his head in his folded arms, his cheeks burning up, and wishing a hole could open up in the ground and swallow him up completely. When he finally opens his eyes, Theo is staring directly at him. His expression is one of shock, but not without a healthy dose of smugness. Stiles wants to punch that stupid smirk right off. But then again, Stiles is the one who put him on the spot, even if inadvertently. He gets up, face still flushed, and practically sprints out of the hall.
Footsteps follow him down the corridor after he hears great wooden doors slam shut. When he turns around, Theo is standing there, holding in a laugh. “Did you really have to do all that?” he chuckles, perfect teeth shining through his smile.
“Shut it, do you really think I would’ve-“ his glare is interrupted by the other Slytherin stepping forward, grasping his face in his hands, and crashing their lips together. Stiles wants to be surprised, but it was a telltale sign when Theo didn’t jump over the table and box him in the nose. He tastes like maple syrup and coffee. The kiss is somewhere in between rough and lazy - if that’s even possible - since Theo’s tongue is exploring his mouth at an eager but leisurely pace. His lips are soft and plush, and just as Stiles brings his hands to the other boy’s chest, a voice echoes through the hall.
“Hey, Stiles, are you oka- OH MY GOD,” It’s Scott, Stiles’s friend from Gryfinndor, who’s now running away with a hand over his eyes. Theo exhales in amusement before intertwining their fingers.
Hello! Do you know if there are any upcoming october or halloween Steo events?
Not specifically, but @steodiscord does a monthly prompt, so I’m sure they’ll have something up. You can also check out @teenwolffandomevents for upcoming stuff. There are a few pan-fandom events and challenges that you could get in on even if they aren’t steo-exclusive.
Stiles wouldn’t be here if he had any other choice.
But his father is dying, and the doctor says there’s nothing that can be done, and that… that’s just not gonna fly with Stiles. He won’t lose his dad. He refuses to.
Which is why he’s here. In the woods, wandering around, looking for a rumour.
“You seem lost,” someone says, and Stiles yelps and spins around to find a young man – a stunning young man – leaning against a tree.
“Uh, no,” Stiles says, once he’s managed to not die from the minor heart attack he just had. “Not lost, just, uh. Looking for something. Someone.”
“Oh?” the handsome man says, curious. “There aren’t many that venture this deep into the woods – and even fewer of them linger to be found. Who are you looking for?”
Stiles wets his lips, trying to get a read on the guy. It’s possible, after all, that telling him could go really badly. The townsfolk are a bunch of suspicious, close-minded idiots, and if this guy shares their mentality, then Stiles really would be better claiming to be lost.
But, well… he’s been searching the woods for hours now, and feels like he’s going in circles. And the attractive guy who appeared out of nowhere doesn’t look like anyone Stiles has seen in the village. So…
“The witch,” Stiles announces, putting on a mask of confidence, as though there’s not a significant chance that this guy will arrest Stiles himself for witchcraft on the spot, and never mind that Stiles doesn’t know the faintest thing about performing magic. If he did, he wouldn’t be in the woods looking to hire a witch for their services.
The handsome man straightens, his expression curious and his eyes intent.
“The witch?” he echoes, moving forwards. Moving closer to Stiles. Stiles thinks about backing up, and decides that to do so would be a show of weakness. He holds his ground.
“Now what would a strapping young man like yourself be doing, searching for the evil witch?” the man continues, strolling forward in a way that somehow manages to look casual while feeling threatening. Like he’s prowling forward. “You’re not hunting, I hope? You’ll need more than just little old you, if you’re going to try and kill the witch.”
“Not a hunter,” Stiles says, setting his chin and refusing to step backwards as the man gets ever closer and closer. “I wish to buy her services.”
The man pauses in his approach.
“Do you now?” he asks, and starts to stalk around Stiles in a circle. “And what are you hoping to buy, hm? A love potion, perhaps? Is there a lady who’s caught your eye, but you’ve not caught hers? Or—”
The man – behind Stiles, now – steps in close; close enough that Stiles can feel the heat of his body at his back; can feel the ghost of his breath against his ear.
“Or are you wishing to buy success?” the man whispers. “Wanting to purchase a life of plenty; of riches untold? The witch could do that. For a price.”
Stiles shakes his head.
“It’s for my father,” he explains, as the man steps away and resumes his stalk-like stroll around Stiles. “He’s sick. The doctor says there’s nothing that can be done.”
“Ah,” the man says, coming to a stop in front of Stiles. “So you seek to delay the inevitable. Death comes for us all, in the end. What does a short delay achieve?”
Stiles shakes his head, stubborn.
“He’s still young,” he says. “Too young to die, at least. He’s still got years ahead of him.”
“He doesn’t, not if you’ve come into the deep of the woods, searching for a cure you’re not certain exists,” the man argues.
“He should have years ahead of him,” Stiles corrects. “He’s a good man and the town relies on him and – and I can’t lose him. He’s all I have left.”
The man stares at Stiles, his blue eyes piercing.
“And what will you give the witch, in exchange for this cure?” he asks, after a long moment.
“Anything,” Stiles says immediately.
The man throws his head back and laughs.
“Anything?” he echoes, amused – and then his demeanour shifts and he steps in close to Stiles, who startles and goes to step back only to find a tree at his spine.
(Was that there before? Stiles could swear there wasn’t a tree there before.)
“You should be careful with your words, Mieczyslaw,” the man says, his breath hot and sweet in Stiles’ face, and Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to ask how he knew his real name before the man is continuing.
“I could take your firstborn,” he whispers, and he’s caging Stiles in against the tree; his hands resting against the bark on either side of Stiles’ head and his body pressing in close from the front. “I could take your life in exchange for that of your father’s. I could take your freedom. Take you with me, and never let you leave. Your father would live, but you would never see him again. And all because you promised me anything.”
Stiles swallows, trying to ignore the way the man’s arms are bracketing him in place.
“So, uh,” he says. “I’m… guessing I’ve found the witch?”
The man laughs, startled and amused, and draws back, giving Stiles room to breathe again.
“I would say that I found you,” he corrects, lips curling in a lazy smirk.
“Do I get to know your name? Since you apparently know mine?” Stiles asks, feeling oddly bold, and the man’s smirk widens into a grin.
“You may call me Theo,” the man – Theo – says.
“I may call you that?” Stiles echoes. “So that’s not your real name, then.”
Theo laughs again, entertained.
“You are walking through a fae filled forest looking for a witch that you hope can give you a magical cure for a deadly illness,” he says. “I assume you know enough about this kind of thing to know that names have power?”
“Yeah, I do,” Stiles says, and sets his jaw. “So what are you gonna do with mine?” He doesn’t bother asking how the witch got his name in the first place. He has it, now, and all that remains to be seen is what he’ll do with it.
Theo’s grin brightens further.
“Oh, I do like you,” he says. “You’ve got spark. And a good helping of stupidity, but that can be trained out.”
Stiles blinks.
“Uh,” he says. “What?”
“The cost of the cure will be your company,” Theo announces, ignoring Stiles’ questions. “Two days per week, indefinitely. So long as you keep visiting me, your father shall continue to live.”
It takes a second for that to sink in.
“You—wait, what?” he asks, because what? This… is not going the way he expected. At all. None of it is.
“Your company, in exchange for the cure,” Theo repeats, patient. “The two days per week can be concurrent or they can be staggered, but two days is the minimum. You fail to uphold your end, and your father will wither faster than a worm left in the sun.”
“My – company?” Stiles asks, because that… can’t be it. Can it? He’s missing something here. There’s a loophole or a trick or something that he’s not seeing.
“That’s what I said,” Theo confirms. “So? Do we have a deal, or no?”
“My company, that’s it? That’s all you want?” Stiles asks, because there has to be something else. Right?
“That’s all I asked for,” Theo says. “And it’s all that this contract requires. Why? Do you object to the conditions? I thought they were rather reasonable, myself.”
“No, they are—” Stiles hurries to say. Too reasonable. He feels like he’s being tricked, but he can’t see how. “Just… why?”
Theo shrugs.
“Perhaps I’m lonely,” he says. “Perhaps I’m tired of all the townsfolk hating me, and I want you to be able to tell them that I’m not the evil creature they think I am. Or perhaps I want an apprentice.”
He steps in close suddenly, into Stiles’ personal space again.
“Perhaps I wish to woo you,” he whispers, his breath brushing Stiles’ lips. “Perhaps it’s been too long since I took a lover.”
Stiles swallows, the sound audible in the quiet clearing.
“And… if I don’t want that? If I don’t want to be your lover?”
Theo grins, slow and amused.
“I think that you wouldn’t be as opposed as you’re trying to pretend to be,” he whispers, and his lips brush Stiles’, the fleeting touch enough to Stiles’ stomach swoop.
And then he steps back, out of Stiles’ space, and Stiles sways a little in surprise.
“I would not force you, of course,” Theo says, back to a normal tone. “Your presence twice a week is all that is required for this deal. Anything outside of that would be unrelated to the deal, and would not affect it in any way.”
Stiles swallows again, thinking hard, trying to work out if there’s a loophole he’s missed.
But really, who’s he kidding? He came here willing to trade anything to save his father. Visiting the woods witch twice a week is a substantially lighter cost than he was expecting, even if there are any loop holes.
“Ok,” he says, and holds out his hand. “I agree. Deal.”
Theo looks down at the hand in veiled amusement.
“Oh Mieczyslaw,” he says. “Witches don’t seal agreements with a handshake.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, dropping his hand. “How do—”
He doesn’t get to finish the question.
He barely has time to cut himself off in surprise before Theo is there again, pressing Stiles back into the tree again and pressing his lips against Stiles’.
Stiles makes a startled sound, and Theo takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking his tongue into Stiles’ mouth.
And Stiles could fight it; absolutely he could; his father taught him how to fight years ago. But – it’s automatic, to relax into it and kiss back. He’s not opposed to the kiss – just startled by it. It’s not even about the deal they’re making. He’d thought Theo was beautiful when he first laid eyes on him. He would never have imagined that this is where they would wind up, only a few minutes later, but he’s certainly not complaining.
And then Theo sucks Stiles’ lower lip between his teeth and bites down, hard.
Stiles yelps, and Theo draws back, blood smeared on his lip and his eyes alight with satisfaction.
“That’s how you seal a deal with a witch,” he says, and Stiles – one hand pressed against his bleeding lip, stares at him incredulously.
“Was the biting really necessary?” he demands, and Theo throws his head back and laughs.
“You’d best be starting home, if you want to make it back before dark,” he says once he’s done laughing, completely ignoring the question. “Your father will be recovered by the time you get to him.”
“I –” Stiles says, reeling a little bit from this whirlwind of a conversation. “Thank you,” he settles on. He’s not sure that he’ll fully believe his father is recovered until he sees it with his own two eyes, and he’s not opposed to hunting Theo down if it turns out he’s lied, but if Stiles takes this whole conversation at face value, then he can expect to return home to find his father healthy and hale for the first time in months. And that deserves all the gratitude that Stiles can muster.
Theo doesn’t acknowledge the thanks, but merely turns and starts walking away.
“I will see you later this week, Mieczyslaw,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s slipping between a pair of trees, and he’s gone.
Stiles runs his fingers over his lips, wondering if any of that really just happened. Had he hallucinated it?
But then his finger catches on the small wound on his lower lip, and he hisses in pain. Yeah, no, definitely not a hallucination.
He drops his hand and looks at the sky, judging the position of the sun. Theo was right – if he leaves now, he can make it back home before dark. And he definitely wants to do that. Quite aside from wanting to get home to his father, he also doesn’t want to still be in these woods come nightfall.
He sets off, retracing his steps through the woods. He’d best get used to the trip, he figures. Since he’s going to be coming back here twice every seven days for the conceivable future.
And, he thinks – as he recalls the press of Theo’s body against his; the slide of lips; the curl of a warm tongue; the sound of a low chuckle – that he doesn’t really mind all that much.
“Is this gonna be a thing?” Lydia asks, flat and unimpressed.
“Is what gonna be a thing?” Stiles asks, blinking in surprise at the sudden question. Also, uh, hi hello it’s lovely to see you too Lydia. None of that? Ok, fine, whatever.
“You two, showing up to my Halloween parties in the worst couples costumes anyone has ever seen,” she says, eyeing them both with absolute disdain.
“Worst—?” Stiles squawks, indignant. “I spent hours covering Theo in glitter, and you have the audacity to insult my hard work?”
“It was hardly hard work, Stiles,” Theo says, amused. “It took you twenty minutes, tops.”
“To cover you in the stuff, sure – but then it took like three hours to get all the glitter off me.”
Theo snorts, his bare chest glittering wildly in the bright light spilling from Lydia’s doorway.
“Yeah, but only because you jumped me the second you were done.”
“And what of it?” Stiles asks. “What, was I supposed to look at you in all your sparkly glory and not want to get up close and personal? That would have been out of character. Both for me, and my costume.”
“Oh my god, shut up and get inside before the neighbors report your precious boyfriend for public indecency,” Lydia interrupts before Theo can reply.
“The neighbors should be thanking me,” Stiles says, as Theo chuckles and tugs him inside. “It was my idea, after all.”
“Oh, trust me, I could tell,” Lydia says, and she doesn’t sound impressed. Rude.
“Don’t worry, babe – I think your idea was great,” Theo says,
“The only part of his costume that wasn’t already in his closet is the wig,” Lydia complains, and Stiles blows a long strand of dark hair out of his eyes.
“So Bella Swan has great taste in clothes – how is that my fault?”
“You’re literally wearing your own regular clothes with a black wig,” Lydia says, annoyed.
“Yeah, but I’m only half the costume. Theo’s the other half; you have to view us together to get the full picture.”
“Putting your boyfriend in a pair of Calvins and covering him in glitter doesn’t count as a high effort costume, Stiles. And it certainly doesn’t make up for your own lack of effort. Do better next year, or I won’t let you in.”
And with that, she flounces off – graceful and flawless as always.
“Psh, she’ll let us in,” Stiles says, turning to Theo and letting himself be reeled in for a kiss. “She secretly loves our costumes.”
“My only complaint is that you’re all covered up,” Theo says, tugging on the collar of Stiles’ flannel. “We both should have been Edward. Then I could have covered you in glitter.”
“And deny Lydia our terrible-awesome couples costumes?” Stiles asks. “No way. It’s the highlight of her year.”
Theo laughs outright at that, and reaches down to take Stiles’ hand.
“Well then, Bella – we shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.”
“Lead the way, oh sparkly vampire-mine,” Stiles says, and lets himself be drawn down the hall to the party.
(This ficlet is a follow on to one I wrote for last year's Steo event, in which Stiles comes to the party as the Big Bad Wolf, Theo comes as Little Red Riding Hood, and Lydia is thoroughly unimpressed with both of them.)
